


Things to do in Tulsa

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Cow Tipping, M/M, Sillyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two things to do in Tulsa - One; get drunk. Two; go cow tipping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things to do in Tulsa

**Author's Note:**

> I was told this is inaccurate. I don't give a flying fuck.

“I’m bored,” Mike tells him after sitting with two Pringles between his lips for ten minutes pretending to be a duck.

“You don’t say.”

“Didn’t anybody pick up any tourist booklets or anything? What the hell is there to do in Tulsa?”

Dave rolls onto his back and presses his last Malteser to his lips, blowing hard until it levitates just above his face, then falls and rolls off the bed. “Well, shit.” He mumbles to himself and sighs. “The woman at the gas station said we should go cow tipping.”

“I think she was kidding, Phi.”

Dave shrugs. “You’re the one who said you were bored.”

Mike sits up and punches the bottom out of the now empty Pringles tube and stares at Dave through it. “I guess. Cow tipping sounds fun.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“No you’re right.”

“The hotel has a bar.” Dave says, sitting up and staring down the other end of the Pringles tube.

“Yes it does.” Mike says, drops the tube, and jumps off the bed.

***

The good thing about being able to afford five star hotels without breaking the bank is that the five star hotels tend to have five star bars with five star alcohol. Mike drops four cubes of ice into his whiskey and Dave curls his nose up.

“You’re only watering it down.”

But by now Mike is rosy cheeked and drunk and just turns to his friend and pulls a face, mimicking him in a higher pitched voice. And giggling.

Dave smirks and downs his own glass, picking out an ice cube to eat. He chews it until his mouth is numb and then swallows hard, the cold putting out the fire of the whiskey in his stomach. “Why do they call this place ‘The Sooner State’?” He asks as he picks out another cube.

“Cuz I’d sooner be anywhere else.”

Which is offensive to anybody who can hear them, but Dave knows Mike is drunk enough to get away with it.

Mike orders another drink and presses his cheek to the bar counter. “I want to go cow tipping.” He grins.

Dave laughs, “Oh as if.”

“Please can we go cow tipping? How fucking funny would it be? And what the hell else is there to do?”

“You didn’t want to an hour ago.”

“Yes but since then…” he holds up six fingers, “…I’ve had this many drinks.”

He’s wrong. He hasn’t had six. But Dave can’t remember if he has had more or less than that, or how many he has had himself. So he stares into his glass thoughtfully. “Um…where would we find a cow?”

“In a field.”

“Which field?”

Mike shrugs and smiles, eyes closed. “Any field. A cow field. Let’s just go. Let’s just…find some cows.”

Any other time Dave would tell him no, that they were definitely not going cow tipping. But Mike is right for once – what the hell else is there to do?

He orders another drink, knocks it back and grabs Mike’s hand, towing him out of the bar.

***

They hail a cab outside the hotel and tell him to take them out of town. So he does. Probably he thinks they’re going to go bury a body or something. But they’re not going to tell him the truth – which is push over a sleeping cow and laugh.

They jump out on a country road and jot down the cab’s phone number so they have some way to get home, and immediately walk into the first field. It’s dark and impossible to see and Mike walks straight into what he assumes is a cow pat.

“I just stood in poo.” He says, staring at Dave with wide eyes. “Cow poo. Full of grass.”

Dave laughs. “That’s fucking gross. Watch where you’re going.”

Eventually they come to a little metal fence with cows sitting obliviously on the other side. Mike steps forward but Dave grabs his arm.

“What? There’s no shit here.”

“No that fence is probably electric.”

Mike just stares at him blankly and turns away, grabbing the fence with his hand. He squeals like a girl and let’s go, eventually, clutching his hand to his chest and staring accusingly at the fence.

“I told you so.” Dave grins and looks around. He treks back toward the gate they came through and grabs a branch from under the tree there, shuffling back over. Carefully, he lifts the top two parts of the fence up, creating a big enough gap for Mike to sidle under. He does so, clumsily, almost tripping over as he ducks under.

Dave passes him the branch and Mike returns the favour until they’re both standing, surrounded by sleeping cows.

“Okay.” Mike says. “Now we…tip? What the hell do we even do?”

Dave creeps toward one silently and glances around. “I think…they’re so big…how could we possibly do this?”

Mike comes to stand beside him and leans with his back against the cow, pushing his full weight against it. His feet slide in the mud, and the cow turns to look at them both with confused, heavy lidded eyes.

“Shit.” Dave mutters, sidling away. “What do we do?”

“It’s not going to attack us. Maybe we can milk it?”

“I’m not milking the fucking cow.” He hisses, stepping further away. “Let’s just go before he eats us.”

“Cows are female, dipshit.”

“What’s a man-cow? A bull?”

“Yeah.” Mike says and points across the field. “Like him.”

There’s a bull in the field.

Suddenly, Dave’s fear of cows vanishes and is replaced with mental images of bull fighting and running with bulls. Being trampled to death and ripped open and then the cows will feast on his insides. Or will they? Do they only eat grass? Why the hell are they still in the field with the bull that is more than aware of their presence and, probably, their motive?

“I think it’s time to go.” Dave whispers. He side steps away from the cow, Mike’s hand in his as they walk away. He tries to stay calm, tries not to panic. But then the bull starts to move, and he can’t breathe.

“Shit.” Mike mutters. “Oh shit it’s coming towards us.”

Dave glances at the fence and tries to work out if they’d make it before the bull did. And he figures it’s worth a chance. “Run.” He hisses to Mike, and breaks out into a sprint.

Mike hurries after him but he’s so fucking slow and he’s panting, “Dave! Dave! Don’t let me die here you ginger faggot!”

Dave grabs the branch and jams the fence up high enough for him and Mike to slide through, managing to electrocute himself three times on the damn thing before the bull reaches them and stares, menacingly.

It turns away eventually, bored, and goes back to guarding the other end of the field.

“That’s right, you walk away cocksucker.” Mike yells after it. Dave slaps his arm and tugs him back toward the road

They nearly got mauled by a bull.

It’s hard to believe. And Mike can’t stop laughing.

“What?” Dave asks, staring at him. “What’s so funny?”

“I stood in poo!” Mike howls.

And Dave rolls his eyes. Calls a cab.


End file.
